Gold and Mahogany
by peachyfuzzykeen
Summary: Bella Swan would do anything for her sister, but is she willing to sacrifice Edward Cullen, the boy of her dreams? *Entry for the 'Remember When This Was Fun' contest*


**A/N:**

**This is an entry for the Remember When This Was Fun contest**

**Just a little bit of Twilight love in the form of fluffy silliness, had a lot of fun writing this. **

**Thanks to the people hosting the contest: sadtomato and SingleStrnd**

**And to the two betas PTB lent to me: Emily Masen and Pain Jane**

**SM Owns.**

* * *

She'll never know how much she meant to me, or how many times she saved my life.

I watch her; she's sitting in her Spartans cheerleading outfit, heatedly wiping milk off her top lip as she scowls at the TV. She bangs her fist indignantly on the arm of the green recliner in the corner of the living room. One of her yellow striped Adidas lies lazily on the onyx coffee table, while its perfectly polished twin dangles high above the ground, wiggling every so often with the jerky motions her leg makes, slung over the arm of the chair. Her petite, well-manicured hands curl tightly around her bowl, her spoon plunges into it, lightly clanging as it hits the bottom harshly. She never takes her violet tinged eyes off the screen. Her body is slumped so low in the massive chair that I can barely see below her neck. It's a strange contradiction; a beauty queen who sits like a trucker. Like a man. Like our father.

Dad always complains that his 'man chair' always smells like girl, but she sits in it anyway. Every morning, in a bizarre imitation of a certain gruff mustached cop, there is a pristine looking girl of 18, devouring Sugar Smacks, slurping coffee and cursing a blue streak at the morning edition of _SportsCenter_. No matter what game had been played the night before, no matter if her team had even won, she still found a reason to call number whoever a 'fucking idiot'.

All she needs is the Vitamin R.

I snicker through a mouthful of my granola as she growls; I'm not even sure if the sound is human.

I hadn't had to cook today; Dad had already been long gone, and Rose had let me sleep in later this morning. By the time I found her, she was already dousing milk onto her second bowl of cereal and into my glass, when she noticed me drowsily dragging myself into the kitchen; she threw granola bars at me and said to hurry up because she was going to do my hair that morning.

My usual morning haze dissipates immediately at her deviation in our routine. First off, she only ever put forth the effort to fight me for a makeover if she was forcing me to some party. As it's nearly six in the morning, I don't think we're going to be sneaking off to any keggers. Her behavior wasn't any different as she stomped back to the living room, but I know something's up.

And also, we don't change the morning schedule unless it's an emergency. We're not anal retentive or anything, but we don't mess around in the morning.

Ever since our mother moved down to Florida, we were put in charge of getting ourselves to school and helping Dad get to the station. Living together is pretty seamless with just the three of us, but he knows how rough our mornings can be if we don't tighten things up. Dad always puts Rose in charge, and I'm supposed to help her. She's the sheriff, I'm the deputy. We all work together to make sure we're washed, fed and ready to go. We're a well oiled machine; nobody forgets their lunch, nobody has to run back for their homework, and everyone has on clean underwear.

Things that Renee should be here to do, but isn't.

The day always starts the same: I pretend I don't hear Rose's shower running until I hear two blunt bangs on my door, waking me up before the first signs of grey light can even filter through my window. The blinding light of my lamp shines in my stubborn face after I ignore those aforementioned knocks. After yawning out a threat where I'd get a pillow to the face if I delayed breakfast, she'd leave, obscenely satisfied with my zombie moans and weak efforts to extricate myself from my tangled blanket's arms. After shuffling downstairs, I wince at the glare of opal skylight bouncing off the faded yellow walls of our kitchen while I fry eggs and bacon. The smells of strongly brewed coffee that she started would practically singe the hair out of my nose as I would munch blearily at the table with Dad.

When breakfast is done, I wish Dad a groggy 'good day' and pass my lively sister as she makes her way downstairs for breakfast, perfectly dressed and ready to go. In that brief 'good morning' we wish each other, I never fail to notice how effortlessly beautiful she is. Each day, she manages to shake off her sleepiness and be flawlessly made up.

I can never even accomplish coherency until _at least_ ten.

She's always the first one up and the last one down. The morning plan just wouldn't work without her. The coffee definitely wouldn't be as strong without her.

Sometimes I wonder if a rift in the world put us all in a time loop; how long would it take to notice if anything were out of place?

"Bee, finish up or we're gonna be fuckin' late!" Her voice is a soft whine, pulling off an odd innocence that only I ever see, even as she drops the f-bomb. I'm halfway through my granola bar, but my contemplation over what she's planning kind of makes me queasy. I hate being out of the loop, and I _hate_ surprises.

"But Rose, why do you need to-" I want to start a round of questioning, Charlie Swan interrogation style, but I'm cut off by another grizzly growl ripping its way from my deceptively dainty-looking sister's mouth.

"Goddammit, can't they _ever_ win?" That soft tenor reserved for little sisters changes in an instant into an irritated rumble. I don't know who lost but I doubt I can stall by asking her who did. She'd see right through that. I throw the wrapper from my oats and honey bar in the trash and climb back up the stairs waiting for my unexpected torture.

* * *

"Bobby pin?"

"Here."

Her cobalt eyes darken in concentration as she expertly braids my hair. I try to sulk without moving because moving gets me a flick to the ear; it's been that way since I was in Kindergarten and Rose had to do both our hair before school. She says she still rues the day I learned about the hair scrunchie because now all I do is throw my hair up in a bun or ponytail or whatever. I think her eye twitches whenever she sees stray curls escaping my ponytail in the mornings.

"Hair spray?" Her slender arm shoots out with urgency to the left of me, her eyes are still hawk watching my hair as if one of her intricate braids will unravel if she even bats an eye.

"Pantene?" My voice shakes with trepidation. I wonder if my hair really calls for that. Is it really that serious?

She looks at me; her voice is grave as she stares fathomlessly into my eyes, "Yes. Yes, we're gonna need Pantene today." I nervously thrust the can into her waiting hand.

_Holy Crow, what is she planning? Why would I need Extra Hold today? Oh God, this is not good._

My wide questioning chestnut eyes, so different from her secretive cerulean ones, connect through the mirror. I watch as her unpainted lips lightly lift in a smile that's not exactly comforting. She's been shaking the light purple can for about a minute, and the motion strikes me as taunting.

"Cover your eyes and mouth, kiddo," she croons.

I listen as she clouds our bathroom in an aerosol mist. The fumes are rebellious against my shirt; the strength of the spray tries to break through as I use it as a force field. I shut my eyes so tight; I feel my forehead crinkle with the effort. I vaguely hear Rose as she works her fingers into my hair, tousling all the curls she's made. I didn't even know she'd stopped spraying.

"Geeze, you'd think it was noxious gas," she snorts. I'm the only one besides Dad that's ever heard her snort. "Alright, sit still and don't move until I tell you."

Rose winks at me to take away the sternness of her orders, but I always listen to her so I don't know why she even tries to be stern. Just her way, as Dad would say.

She stoops down, the pleated skirt of her uniform following her like a parachute as it swishes around her thighs, as she looks through the bottom drawer.

I remember the time I tried out for cheerleading. Whenever I think of it, I wish I'd develop a rare form of amnesia that just blocks out that horrible day. I hadn't told my sister I was trying out; I hadn't wanted to see that look of amused indulgence on her face. It's the same look I get whenever I'm about to do something that's pretty impossible. I didn't want to tell her in case I'd wuss out, so instead of doing my homework, I'd watch her in the backyard practicing with her friends.

Stupidly, I thought it'd be enough to commit their moves to memory, but I guess it didn't translate to my rhythm-less limbs. After it was all said and done, I'd put two girls in the nurse's office and torn the scaffold that hung on the judge's table. My face was beet red, and my eyes had welled up full to capacity with the shame I'd brought on myself and Rose. The captain had started clapping slowly saying, 'Thanks, but this isn't a karate class'. I hadn't stuck around to hear the rest of their jeering.

The only thing that softened the blow was hearing my sister threaten the entire squad that if they didn't stop laughing she'd give them all a knuckle sandwich and quit the team. I'm not sure if they were more afraid of the assured black eye or of their top cheerleader quitting.

Thankfully, that was a year ago, and most of those girls moved onto college, where they will probably relay the story of the most lethal wannabe cheerleader ever. Rosalie's a senior now and has succeeded Jane Volturi as Captain this year, but she still says she doesn't know why I tried out in the first place. She had said it 'Just isn't you, Bee.' I guess she probably knew I couldn't do it like she could.

"C'mere, lemme look at you" She turns me around in my seat like I'm a living doll. She runs her fingers through my hair again, fluffing the curls and tugging at errant strands of runaway frizzy hair. Her surgical seriousness is suddenly replaced with a softer look, "Sorry, I know I burned you with the curlers." Her voice is as apologetic as her eyes and in the bright bulbs on the vanity they sort of sparkle. She really is pretty.

I shrug. "It's cool." Her sad smile immediately perks up, lighting up her face and reflexively mine. "Beauty is pain right?" It's what she told herself that first time she waxed her eyebrows. I wanted to go with her but she told me I didn't have to, I had nice eyebrows already.

She laughs, and it's all guffaws and snorts. "Oh, bless you, you're learning." She kisses my forehead and jumps up, turning to the mirror.

Her movements are so fast, and she's way too upbeat. What is her deal? I've seen her excited before, but it's never just for the hell of it. Something. Is. Up.

I watch her as she starts to put makeup on her face, swaying her hips as she hums. _Hums_, okay?

I'm just about to ask her something. Anything, really. But then she turns to me, smacking her lips against her newly applied Desert Rose lip gloss. She only buys lipsticks with the word Rose in them.

"How's my hair?" she asks me this every morning, it's kind of sweet that her face has poorly concealed worry. As if her hair isn't long, blond and glorious.

I give her a goofy thumbs-up and roll my eyes because she already knows my answer, "Perfect."

With a firm nod and a toothy smile, she marches out of the bathroom without a word; my eyes follow her as she disappears inside my room, "Shall we then?"

_Crap_. Round two.

* * *

Rose had put my sweater on with ridiculous care, like there had been a bomb around my neck and the slightest thread could trigger it. But it had worked; my hair had remained expertly un-mussed as she dressed me…that's right, she dressed me. I began getting serious flashbacks from when I was three, and she had said Bella Barbie was more fun than her plastic ones.

I was just lucky she let me put on my own panties this time.

When she had finished with me, she stood away from me, looking at me with this smile on her face. It was all soft like when I won that Spelling Bee in second grade. That smile almost made it completely worth all the unexplained torture I'd had to endure.

She had said that since I was wearing that sweater I wouldn't need a jacket, but ,God, I'd steal one off a stranger's back if I could cover up right now.

The 'sweater' she'd made me wear was one that I'd kind of outgrown. But it made me look a little bustier because it was sorta tight, and it was kind of short so you could catch a glimpse of just a slit of my skin, but that was only if I walked straight…which I'm don't. She had paired up that skimpy sweater with these low riding jeans that she had gotten me for my birthday, but I fought her on those high-heeled boots she tried to wrestle onto me. I got to wear blue chucks. Rose had called it provocative, innocent, but still cute.

I told her I looked like a baby prostitute.

That comment incited another fierce match of _Mean Girls_ quoting until we got to the car.

"See, I told you that blue looked nice on you." She chirped as she caught me looking in the side mirror at my reflection.

I roll my eyes; I look utterly indecent. Okay, maybe not indecent. I mean, my sweater/jeans combo had nothing on the skirt Rosalie had altered to show more of her long legs, but what was weird was that she was the one wearing a jacket. Whenever she wears her uniform, she doesn't hide it for anything. Rose didn't just like the spotlight, she owned it. She didn't cover up and hide like I did. I don't know why my shyness sticks with me, like a never-ending awkward stage; it's like Rose never even had one of those.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm gonna be sixteen forever.

"Bella, when you pout…you look like Grandma. All wrinkled up and pruny." I sulk further out of spite at her little snorts. "You look great, I promise." Her voice is like trying to give a kid ice cream in exchange for stopping their tantrum. And like a four year old, I take her sweetness in the form flattery and loosen my crossed arms.

I have no idea why she even pushed the issue of my appearance today. Usually she just sighs mournfully when she walks past me in the mornings or whenever I'd pass on reading highlighted copies of her fashion magazines.

I guess I just never got past how we used to be. When we were both crazy messy kids; overalls caked in dirt from mud pie contests, hair wild and sweaty from chasing each other in the backyard, getting all wet playing in the tide pools while Dad would go fishing.

We may have been two years apart, but we were the same.

But one day, puberty came to visit the Swan residence, and it seemingly only came for Rose. I was around eleven, noticing the changes in Rose; her chubby cheeks and buck teeth were replaced by a growth spurt that never seemed to stop. I remember the first time I ever really felt jealous of Rosalie; Dad had taken us both to the mall, doting on his growing daughters the whole way. I remember watching and waiting while she picked out bras, make-up and shoes. Watching her face erupt with this look of effulgence in every store, like she hadn't even known that these things existed. She fit into everything so easily, picking out everything without any real contemplation but still coming into her own so simply.

I watched her prance and preen in each store; envious and heartbroken that it could never be me. I could never slip through puberty the way Rosalie did; it was like she was born to be breathtaking, glamorous. I had felt so immature holding onto my Daddy's hand and watching Rosalie buy her way through womanhood. Unintentionally, Dad was the one to cement my feelings of impossibility towards my ever breaking the ugly duckling conundrum; he tugged one of my pigtails and asked "How bout we go to Build a Bear?"

I produce the same loud sigh that I had five years ago and roll my eyes to the roof of the car. The closed roof.

That's weird.

Rosalie never puts the top up on her little red convertible unless it rains, which makes her grumpier than usual. But today there hasn't even been a drop from the swirling cloud frosted sky, so why are we riding down the street without the wind playing in our hair as usual?

She really is making me quite curious; it's not like her to keep her thoughts to herself. Heck, this car itself is an example of her propensity to be conspicuous and flashy.

I remember a guy Rosalie used to date. Jake. He was a mechanic of some kind and together they expertly restored an old BMW to the point where it looked nearly brand new. Rose, who had grown attached to the cherry red convertible, was heartbroken when Jake wanted it for himself, which caused them to break up. But Jake's dad made him sell it because he'd thought it was too ostentatious. They were part of some big traditional community and they were supposed to look reserved and all official or whatever.

Anyway, Dad bought Rose the car as a surprise, he got it at a really great price because Jake's father and him grew up together or something. It was like Rosalie had met the love of her life. I thought it'd take the Jaws of Life to pry her away from that car when she first got it. But I couldn't complain; she always gave me rides whenever I needed one and she always let me sit up front, even if her friends wanted to.

"Hey, uh…where are we going?" I grow even more wary as she takes a right that's opposite the way to school.

"Ugh," she blows her bangs as she sighs with exasperation. "Relax, kid. We're just gonna make a stop first." I guess she's getting tired of my questioning her, it's not like I do it often but when I do, she knows I'll never stop until I get answers.

She keeps driving for a bit until she slows to a stop next a very familiar place, and my conjecture is absolutely eclipsed by eager anticipation.

"Yes!" I'm sure I look like a spaz as I fist pump slightly, but I always get a bit overenthusiastic over this place. "We're going to the book store?"

"What? No!" She hisses. Her look is a portrait of total surprise, and there's even a little bit of consternation in there too, like she can't believe I'd even suggest something like that.

But she _knows_ I love book stores.

"Oh." I sigh, completely deflated.

"We're going to the coffee shop." Her voice is like an Irish jig, and it's like she wants me to dance with her at the news. But all I can do is further speculate about her motives.

"We are?" I'm still reeling from my impulsive book-addicted tunnel vision; the book store was all I'd seen. But why does she need to go in the coffee shop?

"Yes." She arches her brow in challenge, as if she can feel a protest coming. She's right, of course.

"But…you already _had_ coffee today." I kind of want to laugh as I hear an imaginary band dramatically play 'bum bum _bummmm_'. Let's see her get out of this one.

Her eyebrow twitches as her intimidating glower falters and it's all I need. "Look, if you're done acting like Inspector Clouseau, I'd like to get out of the car now." She sniffs haughtily. She gets out of the car quickly before I can argue any further. I guess I'll just have to play along until I get to the bottom of this.

"Fine, but I'm onto you Rosie Swan!" I shake my fist in her direction but she's already half way to the coffee shop and doesn't even hear me.

* * *

I try to trail Rosalie but her long strides are way too fast to keep up with. I keep following her, sighing in relief as she finally slows down and turns a corner. As I catch up with her, I see the coffee house sitting across the street. A few blocks away from where my sister turned around.

Why would she go the wrong way?

The view of the coffee shop is yanked away in a blur along with my thoughts as a claw-like grasp tugs my arm into an alley, pulling the rest of me with it.

I'm stunned to see who it is that's dragged me here, but I'm even more nonplussed as she pins me to the wall.

"What on Earth are you doing?" My indignant yelp flies from me but I am shushed by Rose and a tiny clicking pop that causes my heart to race. I know my sister wouldn't hurt me but this is nuts.

My head presses impossibly harder into the brick wall as my eyes zero in on a tiny pink tube inching quickly to my mouth. Something must be pretty damn funny in my panicked eyes because she sniggers, "I'd have done this in the house, but I thought you were less likely to make a scene in public." My mouth that's been open in horror and mystification is ripe for Rose's manipulations as she smears the strawberry gloss onto my vulnerable lips.

I can't even believe this. "You dirty little-" my words are muffled as she sticks a small piece of paper between my lips.

"Blot!" she commands as I press my wet lips firmly together against the paper.

"How dare you?" I think I'm angrier at myself for participating but my acts are totally instinctive. All those times watching her do her make-up must have wedged a permanent place in my fragile psyche. "And where'd you even get that napkin?"

"My bra," she answers proudly as she rummages in her purse.

"Oh, so you're stuffing now?" I smirk.

Her eyes narrow dangerously as she brandishes a stick of mascara at me like a switchblade, stalking in my direction until her nose is level with mine. "I haven't stuffed since 6th grade and you know it!" She twists open the lid, and I moan ruefully, but I know better than to resist. "Now don't blink." Her touch is feather light, quick and efficient like she's part of the NASCAR pit crew for ladies. "There! See, you don't look any different, just a little enhanced." I'm willing to bet that's a complete lie. I probably look ridiculous. I can only hope nobody sees me before we get to school where I can scrub my face in the confines of the girls' bathroom.

My head is spinning with bewilderment and incredulity.

I just got assaulted in broad daylight, in an alley…with makeup.

By my own _sister_.

Where are all the cops in this town?

* * *

I had been virtually catatonic when she dragged me to the front door of the little brick coffee shop; the shock of my freaky make up drive-by had shaken me to the core.

But as I slowly come to, I begin to acclimate myself to real life again; I'm surrounded by the warmth of the coffee scented room, the chatter of coffee drinkers and the lure of cinnamon biscotti tickling my nose and tummy.

I look over towards the front of the low-lit room, preparing to follow Rose to the counter when I see him.

Edward. Freaking. Cullen.

God, how could I be so careless? In the preoccupation of trying to pick my unusually enigmatic sister's brain, and in the thrill of possibly enclosing myself in a bookstore for a little while before school, I forgot that my secret crush worked in the very shop my sister had insisted we visit.

"Why do you look like you're gonna faint, nobody cut their finger." If I were in the right state of mind, I'd kick her for bringing up that stupid blood typing project incident last year.

Ironically, my irritation at her teasing gives me a bit of lucidity, "Rosalie, we shouldn't be here." My voice is a whispered pleading pant. I feel like I'm going to break out in a sweat from the heat on my face alone. "We gotta go." I turn to leave, but she's grabbed me by the neck of my sweater, exposing my belly button a little in the process. I immediately stop struggling and face her, hoping I can convince her to leave with me quietly.

"What is your issue, Bee?" I can't tell her my _issue_; I would never live it down. "Come on, let's just sit down." She starts to shoo me to an empty booth at the back, past slurping patrons ruffling through the morning paper and college kids ticking away at their last minute homework. Nobody even spares us a passing glance; nobody can tell that my life is deteriorating by the minute.

My heart begins to flutter like a captured butterfly in a jar, panicking for freedom. "But- but-," I stutter out another plea, but Rosalie remains completely oblivious to my impending breakdown.

"That's better," she chimes as she seats me and herself. I pick up a stray newspaper and look over it, sure that my fried red face is a beacon, peeking over the grey printed pages. I look over to where he is. Edward. The sun shines dazzlingly onto his impeccably chiseled face, it's like his skin is luminescent, made of tiny precious diamonds. He sparkles. Literally burning my eyes with his otherworldly beauty.

I don't take my eyes from him as I rasp, "Rose, I can't be in here." He hasn't seen us yet, but it's only a matter of time until he looks past his line of customers and sees a fumbling tomato red girl and her statuesque sister.

"I need something out of here, it'll be quick." She tries to soothe me, putting a gentle hand on my burning forearm. I feel like you could fry an egg on my skin, heated from shame and embarrassment. You could probably fry some bacon on me, while you're at it.

The stress is killing me, I can't be seen! "You already ate half your weight in sugar smacks!" I snap.

"See, this is how chicks get complexes." She laughs.

"Sorry but-" I interrupt myself with my continued distracted stalking of the copper haired god-like barista filling a mug with Peruvian Dark Roast. Oh God, can he feel the tingling electricity that filters through me with just a glance in his direction, can he feel me watching him?

"I just wanted to get something sweet, with someone sweet." That uncharacteristic form of sugary saccharine flattery is like a rocket flare, blinding me to everything else but her attempt at some sort of trickery.

_Bull!_

My face relays the message as I drop the newspaper and look at her. Her tenacity never was a match for my stubbornness.

"Fine." She avoids my eye, fidgeting; a very un-Rose like thing to do. "You see that guy there?"

God, that _look_. I know that look. She can't possibly…

"Y-yeah?" Please, not him.

"I want him."

Crap.

"Him? Why?" Not him, anybody but him. My voice is so jittery that I feel as if I may have sucked all the caffeine out of this place into my pores somehow. I have to stop this, I can't let this happen. But how can I stop this without giving myself away?

"Are you blind?" She laughs "Look, I need you to be my wing man."

"Wing man?" I repeat dumbly.

"It's an expression, I just need you here. For moral support, you get it." She's nodding like I've already agreed.

"But I can't do that." I whine meekly.

"Why not?" The astonishment on her face is genuine. I never say no about stuff like this.

I hadn't realized I'd been staring at him for so long, because Rosalie clears her throat and jerks her head back to my deepest secret of longing.

"You like him, don't you?" she accuses knowingly.

I had expected her to encourage me to talk to him, maybe even listen to my suggestion that we leave.

"Well, you're _never_ going to speak to him." She flicks her long golden tresses back dismissively, blowing me off with her hair and attitude.

At first I'm a little hurt at her assumption which is tinged with a bite of accusation. But then I'm kind of pissed off because of the clear underestimation my sister has for me. Am I really that weak to her?

The words come out without any thought whatsoever. "Watch me."

"Excuse me?" she scoffs cockily.

Oh my God who just said that? It couldn't have been me.

But I'm still talking, staring into her lovely face. "You heard me; I'm going to talk to him." I raise my chin and pray for it not to shake.

"By all means." Her smug voice is dripping with sarcastic invitation.

I look at her. My magnificent Amazon of a sister. Her skin is the sweetest milky tone and texture, her hair like soft wheat. She knew all about how to get the guy, she'd known for years. Experience and confidence were things I just didn't have, things I never thought I could even attain. Rose just seemed to have been born with it, my complete opposite in every way. We're only apart by two years, but her added height and my stubbiness sets us apart, visually, by at least 4 years. Not to mention that in the face of her sophistication and grace, I look like I just got out of junior high.

But could I really do something so selfish? Could I really challenge my sister? The best friend and protector of my whole life, for a boy who probably won't even like me? I never thought it would come to this, us competing. Honestly, I never even saw myself as competition for someone like her. And we're competing over a guy, how dreadful is that? I never even thought we'd like the same guys; she's always seemed to lean toward the buffer and louder types.

Not like Edward. Quiet and withdrawn to everyone but his piano and a good book. I remember the first time I saw him; I was lost in the hallways of Forks High when I heard a recording of Clair de Lune issuing from one of the rooms. Except it wasn't a recording; it was a gorgeous boy stroking the keys of a black baby grand with long graceful fingers; a hauntingly passionate look tight across his uniquely radiant face.

When I found out he worked at the local cafe, my dreams were consumed with Debussy and dancing teacups, but most of all, Edward Cullen.

God I can't just give up, not before I've even tried.

Not this time.

I had gladly given up my favorite teddy bear when she got the chicken pox, I had given her my locket without a second thought when she went to junior prom but as god as my witness; I would not give her Edward Cullen.

I stand, straightening out my hooker sweater, and step away from the table.

* * *

I wonder if ordering a drink counts as talking to him, I think as I edge hesitantly to the counter. Even the voice in my head is trembling as I walk nearer to the front, joining the line of drowsy commuters waiting on their caffeine fix.

As I'm counting the lines in the tiles on the tawny floor, I feel that peculiar electrifying tingle. I look up and connect eyes with blazing jade gems, the most divinely piercing eyes I've ever seen. I decide to fall into the delusion that his intense stare is intended for me.

All of a sudden, there are no more people in front of me, and I'm suddenly fingering the counter, looking at my bitten fingernails speckled with chipped blue nail polish. God, why don't I get manicures with Rosalie when she asks?

_Don't be a coward, Bella. _

I look up at him, preparing to face the music. I figure since I'm already here, I might as well do a thorough job of giving myself emotional trauma from the humiliation that's about to ensue.

"Sorry. I'm kind of nervous." I hadn't expected him to speak first, but I'm certainly not disappointed. His voice is smooth velvet but with an unexpected shake. I nearly hum in response to the beautiful sound when I register what he just said.

"What?" He's not supposed to be nervous, I am! He's looking at me with a shy crooked smile, so unassumingly stunning.

"I mean, I practice all the time. When I think of you. I always know the right thing to say, but now that you're here…damn, that just sounds weird." He looks crestfallen as he stares bashfully onto the Formica. Holy Crow, he thinks of _me_?

"You know me?" He takes a deep breath and looks up at me slowly through his eyelashes. How does he _do_ that?

"It feels that way sometimes." He looks at me intensely again, like he's trying to read my mind. "You have the sweetest smile I've ever seen." It's like he's not even aware that he's speaking aloud. I feel my face burn up in response; I'm kind of concerned for my blood pressure at this point.

Edward Cullen thinks _I'm _beautiful. Is this happening right now? "You saw me?" His eyes are restless; he doesn't stop to gaze at one part of me for too long. It's like he's never seen a girl in over a hundred years. What the hell was in that makeup?

"You're Bella right?" He avoids my question, looking slightly unsure but he seems to relax slightly; smiling a little as he says my name.

"Yeah?" I jump a mile high in the air as his hand, so cold, slides to mine, but he doesn't notice as he trails his fingers blazingly over my skin.

"Chocolate." He breathes so quietly. He's looking deeply into my eyes, hypnotizing me.

"Chocolate?" I ask distantly.

"Um… uh we sell hot chocolate." It's like he suddenly remembers himself, where we are. He moves away from me, looking ashamed, his smile abashed. God, he doesn't even need to be; I already miss his skin on mine.

"Hot chocolate's fine." I'm slightly dismayed from the break in our little bubble but it's just as well, I can finally start breathing again.

I figure Rosalie could use a consolation prize so I order two of them.

I go to my pocket, but his long pale arm stretches to mine, stopping the motion, "No, don't worry about it." I'm almost disappointed that our encounter is ending, "But I would like your number." His crooked smile is back, adding to the playful light in his eyes.

_Must. Not. Squeal._

"Okay." I nod steadily. There, that's confident.

"Have a nice day, _beautiful _Bella." His quirky smile is kind of sad, like he doesn't want me to leave.

I may have sighed another "okay" back to him, but I can't remember because I am too busy falling deeply and irrevocably in love with Edward Cullen.

* * *

I don't remember going outside, and I can't even feel the burn of two hot drinks clutched in my hands, but again someone is grabbing me.

I don't even resist, lacking all thoughts but ones having to do with a certain handsome coffee cashier.

"So?" The drinks slosh in their cups as my sister erratically shakes me.

"So?" I'm kind of dazed, but I'm not dumb. Her Cheshire smile is almost spreading across her entire face.

_What the heck?_

No way, she didn't. She wouldn't.

"You set that up?" My jaw could unhinge itself, it's dropped that far.

"I did! I did!" She jumps up and down like she's at cheerleading practice.

"Oh my God, you beautiful, lovely jerk! I could kill you!" I laugh breathlessly, the exhilaration of what just happened, what she's done is catching up to me quickly, carrying me on an ongoing zephyr of delirious joy.

"Come on, you love me. Say it!" she sings to me.

"I do, I do," I sing back. "But how'd you know? I never told anybody."

"Oh, you actually knew him?" Her smile is still pleased but surprised.

"Yeah?" I hedge. There's something she's not saying.

"Wow. Small world." She starts to laugh.

"What?" I ask frantically.

"I've been dating Emmett Cullen for four months." she mumbles with a serene smile; her cheeks are suddenly pink and glowing.

"Why didn't you say anything?" She usually told me everything.

"I couldn't risk Dad finding out. Emmett's in college! I may be 18, but if Chief Swan found out, he'd probably lock Em up and then throw me in jail just for being an accessory…or some such bullshit." she rants, and I can't say I blame her. "Besides, _you_ never said you liked Emmett's brother?" Wow, I didn't even know Edward had a brother.

"But, how does he know me?" It was like he'd been waiting for me to come into his life…I mean, coffee shop.

"I went to Emmett's house and met Edward; he barely looked at me, just kept staring at his book. Quite a rude little sh-" She looks down at me, I guess she doesn't want to tarnish Edward's image in the afterglow of our love connection. But I know it probably hurt her pride a little. She shakes her head. "Anyway he saw a picture of us, the one from the zoo-"

Dread blows cruelly, chilling me to the bone. "Oh God, not that one where the chicken chased me in the petting zoo." It'd taken forever to get the feathers out of my hair.

"Not that one! It was the one where you were wearing _my_ earrings." she corrects pointedly.

I chuckle guiltily. "Oh yeah, that one."

"He got this weird look in his eye and begged me for your name." She shrugs as if it's no big deal that the man of my dreams _begged_ for my name.

"But how'd you know?" _That he was the one_, I silently finish. I can't bear to admit those feelings to her yet.

As usual, my face is an open book. "I saw his room; the place is just shelves of books and CDs. He's your soul mate." She rolls her eyes. "Plus, the little freak doesn't even have a bed…so no hanky-panky for you, baby sis." She pinches my nose like I'm six.

I can't dwell on how disappointing his lack of bed is right now. All I can feel is the deepest gratitude for my sister's gallant matchmaking.

"Thank you, so much." I can feel my eyes stinging with love and appreciation for her.

Her smile is just as watery. "Don't mention it; I knew the only way you'd ever do anything is if I told you that you wouldn't."

Wow, that's pretty astute.

She continues, noticing the impressed look on my face. "You're my sister, it's my job to know stuff like that. I also know that you're capable of more than you think."

I don't look at her; I'm already on the verge of tears.

"I know that you're a pretty cool person all on your own; you're hiding a whole lotta hot." she jokes softly, bumping her shoulder with mine. "You don't have to be like me to be you, know what I mean?"

Maybe she was more aware than I'd thought of the shadow her faultless image cast on mine.

At this moment, with her arm looped in mine and her words of advice settling in my heart, I'm stricken by the natural maternal side that Rose is exhibiting right now.

It probably has something to do with her first job. It was weird, she babysat for our neighbor Vera once and we practically had to drag her home. I thought she'd ask to adopt that little Henry.

Well, whatever, I'm not having any babies. I don't think I could live through it!

"I got it." I lean into her, snuggling into her side.

"Whatever. I'm just glad I got through to you before you started dying your hair blond or something." She takes her hot chocolate out of my hands.

"No way, Edward prefers brunettes." I flip my hair, giggling like crazy as I follow my sister back to her car.

Crazy, crabby and colorful, she is but nobody was ever luckier to have a sister like mine in their corner.

I'd never doubt that again.

* * *

**A/N:** **How many Twilight things did you see? **

**Thanks for reading. Hope you liked!**


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